Comfort and Joy
by SometimeSelkie
Summary: It’s Draco’s first Christmas without either of his parents.  The Second War ended two weeks ago, and no one wants to be alone during the holidays.  Luckily for Draco, he’ll be visiting with three people....  postHBP triptych
1. Spectres of Christmas Past

A/N: This ficlet stands alone, but it takes place two weeks after the events of my other fics, "Almighty Fear" and "Walking Wounded", and the Second War has ended halfway through what would have been Draco's seventh year of schooling. Just to make things clear, Draco will be interacting with three other characters and the character category of this story will change to reflect the most recent chapter.

Standard disclaimers apply.

**Chapter One: Spectres of Christmas Past**

_Christmas Eve, 1997_

Draco Malfoy had never been to Azkaban of his own volition before. He had never seen the gloomy view from the small, rickety boat that was propelling itself across the waves, and although he imagined that this briny spray must have spattered his face at least once before, he would have been unconscious at the time and thus had no recollection of it.

Even up close, the prison seemed new and unfamiliar. Then the forbidding doors of Azkaban creaked open to admit him and he recoiled as a storm surge of memories pummeled him. He had been in this receiving hall only briefly, but it was the smell, of mould and despair with lingering notes of madness, that truly brought him back to a time when the Malfoy name opened no doors, when he had no dignity and no rest, no visitors save a red-haired sylph who was there under duress…. He slammed down on that train of thought as hard as he could, but it cracked open again unexpectedly when he came face-to-face with Alec and he felt an inappropriate rush of happiness. In another lifetime, seeing Alec meant that he had visitors, a situation akin to Christmas. Now, he was merely another visitor himself and it really _was_ Christmas.

"I'm sorry, sir," Alec said without preamble. "The prisoner refuses to see you."

The words brought Draco firmly out of his emotional trance. "Excuse me?" He could feel the grit in his mouth from the beach on which he had begun his nautical journey.

"The prisoner refuses to see you," Alec repeated, shrugging his shoulders.

"You mean to say, I've come all this way and-" Draco abruptly passed his hand over his face, struggling to contain himself. "Could you go to him again?"

"Mr. Malfoy," Alec began disapprovingly, "prisoners in Azkaban retain the right to refuse visitors, unless such visitors are approved by the Ministry for the purposes of intelligence or legal matters. Now, if you could prove-"

"Just once more. Tell him his son is here to visit him for Christmas. Could you just do that?" Draco asked, unable to lower himself to true begging.

Alec's sense of bureaucracy seemed to clash with compassion brought on by the invocation of family ties and the holiday season. "Alright," he said solemnly. "This answer is final, though."

"Of course." Alec disappeared through a door and Draco felt the room shrink in the guard's absence. Instinctively, he glanced to the door back to the outside. It was open. He could escape right now, if he wanted, and no one would punish him. He knew such thoughts were absurd, but that didn't stop them from occurring. To thwart them, he tried to think of more pleasant things. His mother laughing gaily from behind the piano with a sprig of holly behind her ear. No, that brought pain, too. The Christmas he had gotten his first real broomstick. He had insisted on rushing out into the snow, and the day had been crisp and perfect….

"He'll see you." Alec had returned and was standing in the doorway, waiting for Draco to follow him. It was with no small amount of trepidation that Draco crossed the threshold into the hallway that led past the interrogation rooms and off towards the cellblock. A fresh assault gripped him as the quality of the air changed, redoubling on dampness and mustiness, and desperation. He hesitated a few steps in and took a deep breath. _You're free_. The sight of the interrogation rooms, with their single high windows, cheered him. They were his happiest memory of the place.

Draco crept alongside Alec, unconsciously drawing nearer to the guard as their journey progressed. Random shouts reverberated off the stone walls and floors. He caught glimpses of prisoners in their dreary cells and could almost feel the beetles crawling up the back of his own neck. Finally Alec halted and beckoned Draco towards a barred door, and Draco drew forward, trepidation wiping his mind blank.

The cell was dim and at first it was difficult to discern its contents despite its spartan furnishings. Draco's eyes altered quickly and he saw his father seated inside, facing away from the door. Azkaban had shrunk him and withered his form. His lank hair had matted into fat, uneven dreadlocks, and he was wearing greyed rags. The dirt looked so much a part of him that he would disintegrate if ever brought into contact with fresh water. In short, he looked much as when Draco had last seen him. "Father," he said softly, "I'm here."

Lucius Malfoy didn't move. If anything, he had become unnaturally still at the sound of his son's voice.

Unfounded annoyance shot through Draco and for a moment, he wondered why he had bothered to come and why his father had agreed to see him if he had no intention of acknowledging his presence. He had to do this, though. He had to do it for her. He decided to try groveling instead. "Father," he began formally, "I bring no gift as nothing can replace what you have lost."

A rasping growl issued from the cell, nearly obscured by the deranged noises of the other inmates. "You took her from me."

The words stung, but Draco supposed he couldn't expect less. "I lost her through my incompetence." It hurt but he wrenched the words out, desperately willing his father to turn around and look at him. "I am a failure as a son." No response. "But I think that she would want us to – to have each other now."

"Do you?" His father turned, and his eyes were luminous and sardonic, incongruous against his grimy face. "I think she would rather be alive. Don't come here looking for absolution," he said, his voice eerily devoid of emotion, "seeking a family you destroyed, love you scorned. I'd bet a thousand Galleons that you haven't made a single attempt to release me from Azkaban, yet you sit before me, a free traitor, scrabbling for petty reassurances. You spit on the notion of family and dishonour your mother."

The only way Draco kept his composure was by reminding himself, fiercely, that this was not his father. His father's voice was preternaturally smooth, but this man sounded like gravel rolling down porcelain. His father would know how hard it was for him to visit this place, especially now. His father had run out into the snow after him that Christmas, wielding his own Comet Two Sixty and failing to keep the laughter out of his shouted command to _wait for me!_ Draco casually slipped his hands into his pockets, where they immediately balled into fists. "Happy Christmas, Father," he muttered, turning away. Lucius didn't bother to respond.

Alec led him silently back to the reception area. This time, Draco didn't notice his surroundings. He was acutely aware of the guard's pity and he despised it. They parted wordlessly and Draco found his way back to the shore for his return trip. The sky was a deep indigo, and lack of cloud cover made the night crisp and biting. Draco crouched miserably in the boat, trying to clear his mind of everything but how much he was looking forward to a cup of tea and a draught of Dreamless Sleep. He deliberately hung his head over the side of the craft into the ocean's frigid, salty spray.


	2. Revels of Christmas Present

**Chapter Two: Revels of Christmas Present**

_Christmas Day, 1997_

Needless to say, it was the worst Christmas ever. Draco woke up later than he ever had on Christmas morning as there were no noises to disturb his drugged sleep. Once he was conscious, he simply lounged for a full hour and a half before he padded downstairs to the tree the house elves had erected and began sorting through the presents under it. He could feel his pulse race with anticipation as he went for the tag of the first few gifts, but in the end, all of the lovely and impersonal trinkets with their carefully-worded cards were from the usual suspects – distant cousins and other continental relatives. Two packages were addressed to Lucius and Narcissa, from a great-aunt and a third cousin once removed, respectively. He put those aside, unopened. He eschewed the traditional Malfoy Christmas breakfast laid out at the table but nicked some toast and a cup of tea. Feeling darkly rebellious, he took the toast straight to his father's study and proceeded to write impersonal thank-you letters to the impersonal gifts, choosing not to reply to Great Aunt Dottie or the Damien Forteuse family. Then, realizing he had absolutely nothing better to do, he pulled down a hefty-looking brown tome on Magical Law from the bookshelf and dropped it on his father's mahogany desk, hearing a satisfying crunch of toast crumbs when the book impacted with a heavy thud. Unfortunately, just the introductory chapter rendered Draco cross-eyed with boredom, and he found himself taking much greater interest in his father's quill collection than the basic tenets laid out by the wizards of yore.

Before lunch – or was it afternoon already? – the house-elf Hibby appeared in the study with a soft pop. "Master Draco, Miss Pansy is here," she chirped.

He became alert at once. "She is?" He could feel the small hairs on his forearms stand on end.

"Truly!" Hibby squeaked, undoubtedly delighted that one of Master Draco's friends had finally come calling.

Draco couldn't blame Hibby for being behind the times. He stalked downstairs into the receiving salon to find his ex-girlfriend and erstwhile schoolmate standing stiffly in front of the fireplace, staring at a small package in her hands. "It appears I've forgotten to re-key my Floo," he drawled coldly.

Pansy's head snapped up and her expression darkened. "It's true, then," she said, looking a bit alarmed at his physical appearance.

He didn't know what she was talking about, but he covered it with a sneer. "Surprise."

"I tried to go to _Azkaban_ last night for you!" she screeched, looking like she might hurl the package at him. "When they said you weren't there, I thought you were _dead_! What's wrong with you, Draco? Why didn't you tell anyone you were out?"

"It was kind of a hush-hush thing," Draco replied sardonically, "with the double-crossing and the Ministry not wanting to appear desperate and all."

"But you could've told your friends," Pansy insisted stubbornly.

He threw her an icy look. "I have no friends."

Pansy's face screwed up in disgust. "Feeling sorry for ourselves, are we?"

"Not one of you came to visit me in Azkaban," he said tightly. "Not a single one."

"Are you daft? I just told you, I was there yesterday!"

"What the bloody hell took you so long?"

"I was terrified!" she screamed. "We all were! How could I go to see you, knowing that my parents could go the same way, that the Ministry could detain me for ransom?"

Draco snorted. "Please. Your parents? Worth something to the Ministry? They're accessory at best. The Dark Lord would never have trusted them with-"

"Shut up! Besides, you're one to talk. You never visited your father."

"Actually, I had a nice long visit with my father," he drawled. "He gave me this," he added, drawing the tip of his index finger down the crooked line of his nose. "But you're right, I never visited before. He told us not to come. You see, unlike yourself, my mother and I would've been in _actual_ danger. Perhaps I'm a hypocrite. After all, yesterday was the first time I visited him since I was a prisoner. That's right," he said to Pansy's slack-jawed expression, "we could've missed each other in passing. But I don't think I'll be going again in the future."

Pansy seemed at a loss for words. "I brought you this," she said finally, thrusting the package into his hands.

Draco unwrapped a box of Peppermint Toads. "Still my favourite," he murmured. "Thanks, Pansy."

She smiled a bit and tucked her short, dark hair behind her ear in what he knew was a nervous gesture. "I would've gotten you something else if I'd known you were free…maybe a wand-polishing kit to get you back on the right track."

Draco drew his wand for her inspection. "I think I've settled in just fine."

Pansy gasped. "That's your old wand! It wasn't broken?"

"I convinced the court to give it away for safekeeping."

"And here I thought you said you had no friends," she said, looking mildly curious.

"And here I thought you'd said I was wrong," he replied lightly. The whole argument had improved Draco's mood greatly. It was good to have company again. Aside from his disastrous outing the day before, he had been completely alone since shortly after the final battle. He was gratified to know that people still thought of him and had possibly cared that he was locked away. "Would you like to stay for lunch, Pansy?" he asked impulsively.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Lunch? That was hours ago."

"Was it really? I must've had a longer lie-in than I thought. That Dreamless Sleep, I can never tell."

"Dreamless Sleep? Was your visit to Azkaban that awful? I never got past the Ministry station, but I suppose it would be difficult to return after being there for so long."

"It wasn't too bad," he lied.

Pansy smirked knowingly. "Right. You just took Dreamless Sleep for no reason."

"I take it all the time," Draco said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The smirk slid off of Pansy's face. "What do you mean, 'all the time'?"

"I don't really know how to make myself plainer."

"How many nights in a row have you taken it?" she asked, looking suspicious now.

"All of them."

"What?"

"I. Take. Dreamless. Sleep. Every. Night. God, Parkinson, what have they done to you? You used to be smarter than this."

"But you – you _can't_ take it every night!" Pansy sputtered.

Draco expelled his breath in an exasperated burst. "Look, Pansy, I-"

"No, it's dangerous!" she cried. "You shouldn't take it for more than three days in a row!"

"Oh, it's _dangerous_," he said sarcastically. "Well, if a daredevil such as yourself says so, I should re-think my regimen."

"You need dreams, Draco! They help reconcile your past with your present and future. You can't fully understand yourself otherwise."

"I swear, if you start bringing up that Divination drivel I'll hex you out of my house." He'd expected his admission to turn Pansy into a fawning admirer of his quiet suffering, not some crazed Trelawney-esque harpy.

"It's not drivel!" she cried indignantly. "You need dreams to be healthy, and Dreamless Sleep is supposed to be a stopgap measure for someone who's been traumatized. You're not supposed to take it for weeks on end! It's addictive! You're going to end up permanently damaging yourself!"

"Don't get hysterical on me," he said calmly, digging into his box and popping two Peppermint Toads into his mouth.

"Okay, I'm sure you've been through a lot of terrible things in the past few months," Pansy allowed, calming down a bit and taking advantage of Draco's candy-induced silence. "You have to work through them, though. You can't simply push them aside. You can't have slept normally in Azkaban, and Dreamless Sleep is a dangerous crutch. You _have_ to break this habit. Promise me you won't take it anymore."

A Toad kicked out at the roof of Draco's mouth. He swallowed them in retaliation and he could feel them struggling on their way down to his stomach. "I don't promise you anything."

"Draco," she said in that patronising tone she had, one of the things he had used to convince himself that he was glad she had dumped him, "promise me. Promise me you'll stop taking it and promise to tell me if you need any help getting through the night."

"You'll lay me down properly and give me good dreams, will you?" he asked with a lascivious wink.

Pansy scoffed, but Draco noticed that her cheeks were stained a delicate shade of pink. "Please. I call you an ex-boyfriend for a reason."

"Can't blame a bloke for trying, can you? You look good, Pansy," he added sincerely.

She smiled, sad and mollified at the same time. "Thank you. I mean it, though. No more Dreamless Sleep."

Draco sighed. Her nagging was negating the pleasure of the Toads hopping around in his stomach, although they were very weak now. "Fine, I'll try," he grumbled.

"You'll feel much better once it's all out of your system and you're dreaming properly again," she assured him. "You're not alone in this."

But minutes later, when Pansy realized the time and begged off to rejoin her family, Draco felt very alone indeed. After a light supper he retired once again to the library to redouble his efforts to find a useful section in the magical law book. Close to midnight, he determined that there _was_ no useful section in the book and vowed to buy a more accessible work in Diagon Alley. The thought of being around so many people slightly alarmed him, but he knew he'd have to re-enter society at one point or another.

When he finally crawled into bed, he rubbed the crick in his neck and reached automatically for the small cabinet on his bedside table. It was only when the Dreamless Sleep was in his hand that he remembered his conversation with Pansy. He contemplated the small phial, trying to decide how much of her tirade was based on fact. The thought of damage didn't faze him – he was already damaged, what was a bit more on the pile? – but he inherently disliked the idea of being addicted to something. Really, though, his use of the potion was more _habit_, not _addiction_. He certainly didn't need it. He placed the potion back in the cabinet and settled comfortably into his plush pillows.

Once the lights were dimmed, he began to have second thoughts. His room felt cavernous, but his sumptuous wool-filled comforter pinned him in place. It was too warm inside the heavy blankets, but definitely too cool without it. His mouth was dry, and his down pillow kept bunching awkwardly. The quiet made his ears ring. How could he possibly sleep if his ears were ringing? The room was the antithesis of his hard pallet in Azkaban with never-ending shouting; if he had been unable to sleep there, one would think he could sleep like the dead when surrounded by every trapping of comfort. He tossed to his other side, pulling irritably at his pyjamas which refused to move with him. With a frustrated sound, he tore off the shirt and a moment later, he kicked off the pants. "Hibby!"

He felt, more than saw, the house-elf appear. "Master?"

"Firewhiskey," he barked. Seconds later, a bottle and a small glass materialised on his night table. He poured himself a hefty portion and when he set the bottle down again, a small movement beside his hand caught his attention. In the dim light, he couldn't quite make out the small, framed photograph on his bedside table, but he didn't have to see it to know it. Its edges, hidden by the matting, were ragged from his constant handling. He toasted the photo he'd studied a hundred times before with a dark twist of his lips and grimaced as he welcomed the burn into his system. Inspiration struck him and he summoned the box of candy Pansy had given him. He poured another shot of Firewhiskey as he sucked on two Toads, wondering anew at Pansy's unexpected appearance and whether she was truthful about her desire to see him. Would other allies follow in her steps? Were they really his allies now? Draco swallowed the candies and chased them down with the second shot. "Welcome to hell, boys," he chuckled, settling back into bed.


	3. Portents of Christmas Yet to Come

**Chapter Three: Portents of Christmas Yet to Come**

_Boxing Day, 1997_

Draco wasn't asleep yet, but he could feel his personal horrors prowling the edges of his consciousness, their eyes aglow with predatory mischief. The Firewhiskey had helped corrupt the edges of reality, and the folds on his pillow became a man's grey face. The mouth opened in the blink of an eye, the black beetles of Azkaban pouring out, and Draco knew what the figure was about to say. _Where is Severus Snape?_ He tried to turn away, to bury himself safely under his covers, but he was immobilised. His arms and legs tingled violently but refused to obey.

"Master Draco, Master Draco!" The room was suddenly awash with light, freeing Draco of his hypnagogia. Hibby tugged at his blankets insistently. "She is here, sir!"

Draco blinked forcefully, unsure of whether or not he was still hallucinating. "What?" he replied stupidly.

"She tried to leave, Sir, but Hibby knowed Master' wishes-"

He vaulted out of bed, scrabbling for his dressing gown. "She's here right now?" he confirmed.

"The receiving salon, Sir." Draco could barely hear her reply over the rushing of blood in his ears, but her bobbing curtsey made it clear enough. He threw his navy robe on but his fingers were slow and heavy, and he struggled with his tie. "Hibby!" he whined in frustration.

The house-elf snapped her fingers and Draco's gown arranged itself and tied perfectly, his outfit topped off with a frothy silk cravat. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and groaned. "I look like my father," he complained, plucking at his neck.

"'Tis only proper," Hibby squeaked severely. He decided that removing the cravat would indeed leave him in a state of dubious modesty and he settled for frantically smoothing his hair in front of the mirror before he dashed out of his room and down the stairs as fast as his slight intoxication would allow.

In the receiving salon, looking for all the world like a spooked horse, was Ginny Weasley. Even having been forewarned, Draco was still astonished that she was actually there.

She started as he skidded into the room, and they stared wild-eyed at each other for a moment. "Draco, I'm sorry," she breathed, actually taking a step backwards. He was sure she would've brought her arms up in defense if they weren't full of packages. "I didn't know you were – I didn't realize the time, but your house-elf wouldn't let me leave."

Draco waved off her explanation. "She was doing as she's told." And a damned good thing she was, too, Draco added mentally. If he'd been forced to give Hibby clothes, he would've been greatly inconvenienced. "Please, sit down," he said softly, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt. He hadn't seen Ginny in two weeks, but it could've been a lifetime ago for all it mattered. She had sat with him in the hospital wing after the final battle, telling him small stories of no consequence while he recovered from fever, but by the time he'd recovered enough to be consistently lucid she was long gone off to her family's hovel. He didn't know why she was here, but instinct told him that if he provoked her in any way this night, he would never see her again.

Ginny glanced down at her cargo. "I've brought you turkey and stuffing, and mince pies," she said, juggling the containers awkwardly. Draco rushed forward to relieve her of them, using the opportunity to take in her appearance. She was wearing a hideous pink jumper that didn't fit her properly, and her hair was pulled back in a severe French braid. She looked thin and drawn. "And I know you've plenty of food already," she continued snappishly before Draco could say anything, shooting him a withering look to curtail any objections, "but no one makes better mince pies than my mum. Well, they're not as good this year," she allowed, still refusing the seat Draco had offered her. "I helped too much."

"Been busy, have you?" he asked, noting the two Peppermint Toads she'd nestled inside one of the containers before setting the food aside.

"You have no idea," she muttered.

Draco caught a note of resentment, nearly repressed, in her voice. "Did you have a good Christmas?" he asked carefully.

"It's the worst Christmas I can remember," she answered frankly. "When I was younger I had this idea that if only the war could end, life would be perfect. But it's just terrible. George, he's a shell of himself, nothing I say can cheer him up, and Ron's so…_angry_. I never knew he had so much anger in him." Draco had known the Weasel King's tendency towards brutish violence and rages all along, but he restrained himself from telling her that. It was obvious that she wasn't looking for any reaction out of him, and he let her continue her stream of consciousness unchecked. "He's practically a Squib right now. We don't know what we're going to do; my dad's looking into getting a tutor to train him how to use his remaining arm properly, but he has all of this knowledge and no way to let him out and it frustrates him so. Hermione is over as much as she can be and it just makes him furious. He yells at her but she keeps coming back, and it's exhausting both of them. My brother Bill's wife is still in St. Mungo's, and Harry's been transferred to long-term spell damage. He's sort of befriended Professor Lockhart, believe it or not, but he gets very agitated when we visit. My mum's beside herself and I have to keep running around after her in the kitchen, making sure she doesn't set the place on fire or dump salt in the wassail. If I can, I just set her in the corner with a cup of tea."

"And who's taking care of you?" he asked, his voice sounding husky to his own ears.

A bark of humourless laughter escaped her. "I don't need to be taken care of."

The Firewhiskey in him demanded that he cross the space between them, but he knew well enough what could happen to him if he did. "Sit down," he said again, hoping that she would choose the loveseat and he could sit beside her.

She shook her head, her braid jumping from side to side. "I didn't mean to interrupt you."

"You're not interrupting anything. Now _sit down_." He fell into the loveseat to set an example and damn her, she just stood and watched him. Words bubbled all around him, effervescent, begging for his use. Months ago they would've spilled freely from his lips, but that time was over. There had been so much between them back then – blackmail, betrayal, hatred, and terror. Nothing remained now, no secrets or lies to bind them together. He still didn't understand why she had come, why she was still standing there if she was so intent on leaving. It was like he was walking on dragon eggs, liable to be burnt if he made a single misstep. He took everything he could say and swallowed it, and the sentiments burned like Firewhiskey and kicked like Toads on the way down. "I'd like to give you a Christmas present, Ginny," he said instead. "If you'd permit me, that is."

"I don't think that's-"

"I don't know if you've grown attached to your new wand," he began, overruling her objections until the proposal was made. "Undoubtedly, the Blacks had impeccable taste and I'm sure the wand is of the finest craftsmanship. However, Aunt Bella's wand has a rather…unique history and I'm not sure whether you find it suitable. I'd like to offer you your own new wand, and I'd like to take you to you Gregorovitch to get it – it's just that none of Ollivander's protégés are really up to snuff – and…well, that's it. I'll buy you a new wand, if you want one."

Ginny looked doubtful. "Gregorovitch? I can't go that far."

"Leave the details to me," he said smoothly.

She considered this and finally gave a solemn nod. "Thank you, Draco. In return, I'd like to give you your aunt's wand. It's part of your family history, for good or ill."

A grin stole across his face as he rose to his feet. "It's a deal, then."

"When will we go?" she asked, still fretting over the minutiae.

"It doesn't matter. I've got all the time in the world."

Her brow furrowed. "What are you going to do now that everything's over?"

He affected a casual shrug. "Well, I've missed a term of school, so I'm out until next fall. I think I'll enroll at Durmstrang for my last year." It was a decision he had reached after a hard examination of his circumstances.

It had to be the Firewhiskey, but he swore that her face fell a bit. "Durmstrang?"

"Well, I certainly can't go back to Hogwarts, can I? Besides, my father had always intended for me to go to Durmstrang, it was just that my mother…well, she's gone now, isn't she?"

Ginny grimaced. "I think they'd let you back at Hogwarts," she said. "After all, technically you're a war hero now."

Draco snorted in contempt. The very idea was laughable. All he'd done was fall in battle. "No one would believe that."

"McGonagall knows. And you wouldn't be the only one behind in your year, I'm sure. Lots of students in your year didn't come back this last fall."

"My friends will be gone," he said with a tactful note of finality.

"Not all of your friends," she whispered, and the look on her face made him feel like his entrails were spilling out all over again.

"Well, it's a long way off," he allowed gruffly.

"I can't wait to go back to school," Ginny said. "I know it's not right, but I just want to escape my family right now and come back when they've started healing."

"You can stay here tonight, if you'd like," Draco offered.

She shot him an annoyed look. "That's not what I mean. I don't want to _abandon_ them. Actually," she sighed, "I should probably get back to them before anyone realises I'm not in bed. I just wanted to make sure you had some holiday food."

Draco couldn't have cared less about the food. "Thank you for coming," he said, aware that he wouldn't be able to keep her there. He stepped forward and pecked her on the cheek. "Happy Christmas, Ginny."

Her spine went ramrod-straight and her eyes narrowed. "You kissed me," she whispered.

"Yes, I did," he said haughtily, irritated at having to explain good manners. "I often kiss friends who come calling." Indeed, he had performed an identical action on Pansy that afternoon.

She looked too pale, as if she was going to be sick or faint. "It wasn't like a friend once," she countered softly.

The air in the room immediately gelled into a thick soup. Every action was sluggish and disjointed, as if he was under a poorly-cast Imperius curse. He remembered waking up that day and knowing that he'd failed her, that he was in hell and he'd never see her again. Then he'd overheard Pomfrey and McGonagall talking and realized he was in the hospital wing of Hogwarts, and from what they said she was there, and just down the hall! He'd staggered away while they were absorbed in post-battle talk and found her in the room and couldn't hold himself back. He didn't remember the kiss in any detail – he blamed the fever – but it was his supplication to her, and he had poured everything into it. Pulling out of his memories, he was distantly horrified to find that he was already answering her. "Is that what you came here for, Ginny?" he purred dangerously, stepping closer to her again and feeling the crack of a thousand eggshells under his bare foot. Ginny's pupils dilated as she stared up at him mutely, her parted lips tantalizing him. The words started bubbling up. "Do you want-"

She suddenly stepped backwards with a small noise of disgust. "Never mind," she said bitterly, her eyes shrouded in some morose emotion. "I don't know why I bother."

The flames were licking at his heels. "Ginny, wait!" He lurched forward but she sidestepped him and chucked a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace.

"I've got to go," she muttered, sounding more sad than angry. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy." And then she was gone.

Everywhere was fire.

Draco retreated to his bedchamber, tore off his robe, and flopped on the bed. His hand went out to the picture frame on his bedstand and he brought it in front of his face. It was the photograph he'd used to drill Hibby, his prized possession in Azkaban. Ginny casting an inferno off-camera, the blaze turning her person orange in its fierceness. His fingers splayed out longingly over the moving tableau, and then he let it tumble from his hands to the floor. The Dreamless Sleep remained in its cabinet.

It was going to be a very long night.


End file.
